The Dúnedan
by LaurelAnichka
Summary: How did Elrond tell Estel of his heritage? How did Estel react? Why Aragorn left Rivendell.


Estel sat in the chair across from Elrond's desk. It was a spot he had frequented over the years, but somehow this time seemed different. His adar had summoned him here, which in itself was not unusual. The unusual thing was that Estel was staring at the carving of a rising sun on the back of Elrond's chair. That sun was usually hidden by Elrond's body, but not today. Today, Lord Elrond was late.

There was a letter sitting on Elrond's side of the desk. Glancing down at it, Estel thought he saw his own name. Did he dare…? Yes, he did, he decided. His adar wasn't here yet, and it was about him anyway. Turning the parchment around so that it faced him, Estel read:  
_You must tell him soon, mellon-nin. The longer you put it off, the more difficult it will be, particularly considering his infatuation with Arwen. Estel must be told. There are rumors, whispers, of a shadow in the east…Meanwhile, the images in Galadriel's mirror grow darker every day. Elrond, I am anxious for us all._

Puzzled, Estel looked at the bottom of the page for the signature. The letter was from Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien. Why would DaerAdar Celeborn be worried about a shadow in the east? Did he mean Mordor? Estel's intestines twisted unpleasantly to the left. And what was this about an infatuation with Arwen? He and Arwen were in love!

Just then, the office door swung open and Lord Elrond strode in. Estel dropped the letter back onto the desk, but he couldn't hide the fact that he'd been reading it. However, Elrond didn't seem to notice.

"Your brothers," he said shortly, "are still impossibly stubborn, particularly when they are disagreeing with _me_. I had hoped it was a phase they would grow out of, but they have not so far, and they have been adults for some time. My apologies for my tardiness." Then his eyes dropped to the letter on the desk, which was still facing Estel. "Have you been reading my correspondence?"

"I'm sorry, Ada, but it had my name in it, so…"

"Estel, you are not a child any more," Elrond said sharply. "I should not have to tell you to mind your own business. As it happens, this letter does concern you, but I would have preferred you to hear it from me…" The elf-lord suddenly looked uneasy. "Estel, your brothers would not have me tell you this. They believe that you can go for longer without knowing. As you probably read, your DaerAdar Celeborn disagrees – as do I."

"What is it, Ada?" asked Estel, the question coming out low in his throat. "And what has it to do with a shadow in the east?"

"Do you remember your true name – the one you were given when you were born?"

"Of course." The wood of Elrond's desk was smooth under his fingers. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"And who is Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"

"My kin are the Dúnedain…" Estel's voice faltered. "Why is this important? It is nothing I do not know."

Elrond ignored him, his face impassive. "Do you know who the Dúnedain are?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know of the Númenoreans, do you not?"

"The men of Westernesse? What have they to do with the Dúnedain?" He tightened his grip on the edge of the desk. Elrond had a very pinched look on his face. The last time he had seen that look was when Elladan and Elrohir had bleached their hair.

"The Dúnedain are the descendants of the men of Númenor."

"No, Ada…" Estel abandoned the edge of the desk and began twisting a lock of waist-length hair around his fingers. "The race of Númenor failed with the death of Isildur, remember? You yourself taught me about his death, and the way he betrayed you in the fires of Orodruin. Gondor has been governed by its steward for many a year."

"Isildur had a son," Elrond said shortly. "He survived, and took his family and all his kin up into the north. There they took another name for themselves, and wandered the world. The only clue as to their lineage is the length of their lives…"

"Ada, surely – "

"The heir of Isildur has been the chief of the Dúnedain for many generations. Your grandfather was chief, your father was chief, and – "

"No!" Estel stood in one fluid motion, nearly knocking over his chair. "Ada, there must be some mistake!"

"There is no mistake," Elrond answered, his tone even. "You are the heir to the throne of Gondor. A great shadow is rising in the fires of Mordor. The closer the shadow draws, the closer draws the time when you must claim your throne."

"I don't want the throne, Ada!" cried Estel. His voice rose with each word. "You know what I had planned to do with my life – what I still plan! I have been training under Glorfindel to protect Imladris! This is what I have wanted my entire life!"

"I never encouraged that dream." Elrond's voice was flat and emotionless. "It is not what you are meant to do. You are meant to be king." He rose, too, and Estel suddenly felt like a little boy being chastised again, though he had long since reached his full height and now stood eye to eye with his father. "This discussion is over."

Estel stood for a long moment, not breaking eye contact with his adar. Finally, his voice harsh and choked, he asked the first question on his mind. "What about Arwen?"

"What about her?"

"You know that we had intended to be married."

"I never gave my blessing."

"I love her, Ada!"

"Estel, do you really think I would give my daughter to a mere mortal?" Elrond's eyes glittered. "She would die!"

"I will die without her!" shouted Estel. "Do not do this to us!"

"You will die anyway!" Elrond thundered. "She is my daughter, Estel!"

Estel cringed, but held his ground. "And I am your son, am I not?" The world blurred. He blinked furiously to bring it back into focus. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

"You are not my son," spat Elrond. "I raised you better than this. If you continue to be so unreasonable, then you are no son of mine."

"Ada? Estel?" A soft voice came from the doorway. Arwen, having heard their raised voices, was standing in the doorway, concerned. "What is wrong?"

Both of them ignored her. Elrond glowered. "You are being a fool, Aragorn."

"My name is Estel!"

"You must accept your lineage!"

"What difference does it make? I will never be king!"

"A time will come sooner than you think when the people of Middle-earth are in need. You must be prepared to answer their cry."

Estel slammed the palms of his hands down on the desk. "The people of Middle-earth will have to find a new savior! I'm not accepting the job!" His chair clattered to the floor as he made for the corridor. Arwen stood in his way, stunned.

"You will have no choice, Aragorn." Against his will, Estel turned to face his adar as he spoke again. "The throne has accepted you, whether you choose to accept it or not. I see it in your bearing, in your eyes. You will be king."

"I will not let the throne accept me. I do not wish to be king. I would not – " Estel swallowed. "I would not be a good king."

"You are not a child!" cried Elrond. "There is no time for ridiculous insecurities! You cannot stand with your fingers in your ears, flatly denying everything I say and hoping the future will muddle itself out!"

"Watch me."

"I will not watch you throw away your birthright." Elrond stepped out from behind his desk and faced Estel again. Arwen still stood in the doorway, looking as if she wanted to say something.

"I have a birthright, Ada," whispered Estel. "I am your son. Imladris is my home."

"No!" A terrible expression tore across Elrond's face. Estel stumbled backward, afraid. "You are not my son, Aragorn son of Aragorn! From this day forward, your place in my halls is only that of a guest! You have no birthright here!"

"Ada – "

"No!" Elrond took another step forward, his hands twisted in the folds of his robes. "Until you accept your lineage and your responsibilities, you are not my son. You are no longer welcome to live in Imladris."

"That makes no sense," Arwen put in. "He is not your son until he accepts that he is someone else's son?"  
"Hush, Arwen," snapped Elrond and Estel simultaneously.

"Get out," Elrond said softly. "Both of you. Get out of my office."

Exchanging a look, Estel and Arwen slipped out the door, closing it behind them. Elrond righted Estel's toppled chair and sank into it, shaking.

"Ai, Eru," he whispered. "What have I done?"

Just before dawn the next morning, a tall figure, cloaked and hooded, stood at the edge of the road out of Imladris. His hair, formerly long and flowing, had been hacked roughly off with a knife just above his shoulders. A broken sword hung in a battered sheath by his side. His eyes were red, but his jaw was set.

"Good-bye, Ada," Aragorn whispered to the emptiness. Then he took his first step into the wide world.

_fin_


End file.
